


Kiss Each Other Clean

by moodlighting



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Immortality, M/M, Missing Scene, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: Death, as Joe knew it, was unjust and indiscriminate. Above all else, however, it had no place inside Nicky, where only light belonged. Centuries had passed, and never once had this stopped hurting. Could it ever be anything but painful, having his own soul cleaved in two?Regarding Joe, Nicky, and the blood in Nicky's hair.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 42
Kudos: 1155
Collections: The Old Guard





	Kiss Each Other Clean

He felt the gunshot more than he saw it. Tossed aside, helplessly wheezing in breaths through his collapsed throat, Joe was powerless to stop the round as it was unloaded into Nicky’s skull.

It might’ve been his own head, he felt it so acutely.

The man responsible was gone before the blood even began to pool. A problem soon to be eliminated, but not now. On hands and knees, Joe crawled across the concrete floor, barely conscious of the shrapnel piercing his skin. His throat had mended quickly— _not soon enough_ , Joe thought—but he had yet to take a full breath. He couldn’t, not until Nicky was breathing too.

Beneath Nicky’s head, the blood that gathered was thick and crimson, littered with clumps of gray matter and shattered fragments of bone. It was grotesque, an unimaginable horror—more blood in one place than Joe had seen in a long while. Though nothing he had not witnessed before, Joe still felt his stomach heave at the sight, the devastating _wrongness_ of it.

Death, as Joe knew it, was unjust and indiscriminate. Above all else, however, it had no place inside Nicky, where only light belonged. Centuries had passed, and never once had this stopped hurting. Could it ever be anything but painful, having his own soul cleaved in two?

Kneeling over Nicky, Joe’s vision blurred with unshed tears. Nicky’s eyes were lifeless, fixed in an unseeing stare, his body still and empty as only a corpse could be. Joe’s hands hovered near his face, dirty and trembling. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to touch him, afraid that if he did, Nicky’s skin would already be cold.

Death was their constant in life, yet its inevitability was not something Joe often feared. The world still felt boundless with Nicky’s hand in his own, with this family he’d been gifted at Joe’s side. But the hole Booker had put through Andy’s gut remained at the forefront of Joe’s mind, the bandages blooming red under her clothes with every wincing movement. In this moment, Death was not just a constant, but a presence; a looming shadow that could no longer be ignored, a reality Joe could not accept. _Would not_ accept.

Then, between his hands, Nicky awoke with a heaving, desperate gasp.

And Death retreated once more.

The relief that flooded through Joe was tangible, a wave of impossible emotion. He had to plant both hands on the ground to steady himself, letting his head hang between his shoulders until the feeling washed away. Eyes closed, he felt it when Nicky’s fingers grasped his forearms—though which of them he was reassuring, Joe could not say.

He barely had time to reciprocate the touch before Nicky’s thoughts returned swiftly, unfailingly, to their friends.

“Let’s go,” he said, already reaching for the nearest available weapon—a pistol. “Andy.”

Nicky was unsteady, having hardly given himself enough time for his skull to stitch itself back together. Joe’s hands instinctively found his waist, guiding him to his feet. Beneath his palms he could feel the narrow curve of Nicky’s ribcage and its blessed rise and fall. Only then did Joe’s focus return to the siege unfolding before them.

Together, Joe’s hand a counterbalance at the small of Nicky’s back, steadfast and ever-present, they made their way through the exit and onto the next fight.

* * *

They’d been driving for hours. At the far edge of the horizon, the sun was glowing golden red, transforming the forest around them into the painted fore-edge of a book, gilded and green.

No one had spoken for some time. Beside Joe, Andy had two hands on the steering wheel, steely and unflinching as she drove to a destination only she knew. In the backseat, Nile had succumbed to her exhaustion, no doubt unused to the process of her body healing from such grievous injuries. She was slumped against Nicky, who had made himself small in order to fit in the cramped middle seat of the sedan. His long legs had nowhere to go, folded uncomfortably together, his knees tucked close to his chest. For Booker, Joe did not spare a glance.

From this angle, Joe could see only the top of Nicky’s bowed head. He was sitting meditatively still, his hands clasped loosely together, as if in prayer. Joe could not stop staring at the blood, dried and matted at the back of Nicky’s head. Already it was flaking away like rust. Yet every time Joe blinked, that same blood became dark and ink-slick once more, an open wound in his mind’s eye, a double exposure of past and present.

Joe shook his head to clear away the image. Then was not now.

They’d been driving for too long.

“Boss,” Joe murmured softly.

That was all the indication Andy needed. At the next side road, she turned, driving them deeper into the trees until they could no longer be seen from the main road.

As the car slowed to a stop, both Nile and Nicky sat up in their seats, alert. Joe watched Nicky’s eyes search their surroundings, sharp and assessing—could see the moment he determined they were all still safe.

The woods were silent when they stepped out of the car. Tree branches reached far above their heads as they stretched their limbs, the grass tender and overgrown underfoot. Joe saw Nile roll her neck in circles, working out the stiffness, watched Andy pop open the trunk and begin rummaging through its contents. Booker had wandered to the far edge of the underbrush, separating himself from the rest of them.

Nicky stopped at Joe’s side. He was holding the half-empty water bottle Joe had spotted in the trunk earlier, leftover from only God knew when. Wordlessly, he handed it to Joe. Reaching back, Nicky pulled his shirt gingerly over his head, the leftover ache of his muscles written in every motion.

Joe understood his intentions without words being said. Uncapping the bottle, he stepped close and carefully began to pour the water across the back of Nicky’s head, washing away the blood with a steady hand. Bent at the hips, Nicky braced his hands against his knees, allowing the water to run down each side of his neck, cool and tinged pink as it disappeared into the dark soil below.

Joe carded his fingers gently through Nicky’s hair, scratching delicately at his scalp to separate the stiff blood from the soft strands of brown. His fine hair wove between Joe’s fingers, silken and clean, familiar and dear. He would soon need a haircut, Joe noted. If he could find shears sharp enough in whatever safehouse Andy was leading them to, Joe might trim it for him.

He felt Nicky shiver under his hands. “Puzzo come un penny,” he said quietly, for only Joe to hear.

Joe laughed, equally as soft. “Dovremmo chiamarti ‘Nickel’ invece,” he said. “‘Nickel Nicky.’”

He could not see, but he knew that Nicky was smiling.

They ran out of water before all the blood was gone. It would have to be enough until they reached a proper place to rest. Joe stepped away so Nicky could shake his head, not unlike a wet dog, clearing away the excess water. He scrubbed a hand through the back of his hair, leaving it spiky and uneven. The sight made Joe smile, Nicky’s youth and charm ever boundless inside Joe’s heart.

Slipping his filthy shirt back over his head—unavoidable in this case—Nicky turned to meet Joe’s eyes. “Grazie, amore mio,” he said. He reached for Joe’s wrist, drawing him close to press a kiss to his cheek, as loving as it was slightly wet.

Together, head and heart cleansed of all they had endured, Joe and Nicky returned to their friends, side by side for whatever was to come next.

* * *

Dying was painful until it wasn't. Wounds healed and life returned, yet the exhaustion always lingered. Without further invasive experimentation, the likes of which they’d only just escaped, the nature of immortality was destined to remain a mystery. Joe did not need complex scientific research to understand the rapid healing of his body expended a great deal of energy, however. He could feel it with every movement, in every part of himself, every atom of his being. Beyond bone-deep, the fatigue had infiltrated to the very core of his soul, a restless and immovable weight, familiar in its ache.

Here in the safehouse, they would all have the time they needed to rest. Andy’s hideaway was nothing more than a small cabin, functional and unremarkable, as any safehouse should be. Crafted in a way that spoke of centuries long since passed, the cabin was clearly intended for only one or two visitors. There was hardly enough room to move with all five of them present, and they were short several beds, but Joe was just grateful to have running water.

Emerging from the bathroom, he found Andy on the couch, shirt removed as Nile diligently dressed her wounds. Among them, Nile was the only one still close enough to her mortality to recall the proper first aid techniques Andy needed. Across from them, Booker was sprawled out in an armchair, already asleep, one hand pressed to his eyes to block the light of the low-burning lamps.

In the far corner of the room was Nicky. He had unzipped two sleeping bags, spreading the length of one across the floor, half of the other drawn across his shoulders as a blanket. He had claimed one of the few available pillows for the two of them, but had left it to the side for Joe instead of using it himself. _The kindness and generosity of this man…_ Joe thought. Were such things left up to him, Nicky would have been canonized several centuries ago.

Offering Andy and Nile a nod and a murmured goodnight, Joe returned to Nicky’s side. On hands and knees, he crawled up the length of their makeshift bed to lie down next to his love. Settling on his side, he mirrored the arrangement of Nicky’s limbs until their bodies could fit together completely. Whether he was still awake or not, Nicky did not open his eyes at the disturbance.

Carefully, Joe slipped his arm into the space between Nicky’s neck and the floor. Bending his arm at the elbow, he brought Nicky’s head to rest against the curve of his bicep, pillowing it there. Joe felt Nicky’s warm sigh of contentment as it fanned out across his skin. With his free hand he gently stroked his fingers through the length of Nicky’s hair, still wet from his shower, finally clean of the blood that had been spilled. Joe felt the tension as it melted from Nicky’s shoulders, the weight of his body as it sank back into Joe’s chest.

Leaning in, Joe took a moment to nose along the line of Nicky’s throat, breathing in the warm, familiar smell of him, the barely-there scent of the almond soap they’d all shared. He followed his lips downward to press a light kiss to the base of Nicky’s neck, where the loose shirt he was wearing had fallen away to reveal a perfect expanse of bare skin. Even now, Joe savored the feeling as if it was the first. Tracing his palm down the length of Nicky’s side, Joe found the dip of his waist and wound his arm around him, gathering him close until no space between them remained. He hugged Nicky’s body to his, the greatest comfort Joe had ever found. 

Like releasing a long-carried weight, the relief was immediate, and heady. As long as he lived, Joe would never tire of the way the lines of their bodies came together this way, as if to form a single perfect whole. 

Together, the breath in their lungs and the beat of their hearts and the shape of their souls entwined, Joe and Nicky drifted to sleep, where they dreamt only of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations courtesy of Google. For those Italian speakers out there, I welcome any suggestions or corrections!
> 
> • "Puzzo come un penny." - "I smell like a penny."  
> • "Dovremmo chiamarti 'Nickel' invece." - "We should call you 'Nickel' instead."  
> • "Grazie, amore mio." - "Thank you, my love."
> 
> Title borrowed from Iron & Wine's album of the same name. Thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> [fic post](https://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/624078039183228928/kiss-each-other-clean) | [my writing blog](https://mooodlighting.tumblr.com)


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